


i'll be the ring on your little finger.

by jellyjamjelly



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Prostitution, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9201011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyjamjelly/pseuds/jellyjamjelly
Summary: all shouyou wants to do is make sure he and natsu have enough to get through another week. he steals from the pockets of rich men.attractiverich men.it's not his fault they're distracting.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superfleuressence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfleuressence/gifts).



> i promised a kagehina fic to superfleuressence eons ago!! this is half a year overdue, but ta-da, here it is. i've never written kagehina before! it was a challenge. 
> 
> this is set in the victorian era, so maybe think bernard shaw's pygmalion.
> 
> [sorry, this is unbetaed. i do skim over my work several times, but i always miss things, so bear with me? :(]

It isn’t difficult for Shouyou to pick his next target. He glances at the man across the street from the darkness of the alleyway, watching the man shift from foot-to-foot, scowling at everything and nothing. The top hat the man is wearing casts a shadow around much of his face, but Shouyou can see that he is young, all long, slender lines and smooth skin. He seems distracted, fiddling with the hems and buttons of his tailcoat tuxedo, and glowering in all directions. Shouyou does another once-over of the man, appreciating how the dark silk shirt under his silver vest shifts over his chest as the man moves, and catches a golden wristwatch peeking out underneath the left sleeve, on top of expensive leather gloves. Shouyou nods approvingly to himself. This man is dressed to the nines, definitely rich, distracted, making him an easy target, and bonus - attractive as hell. Taking his wallet will simply be an excuse for Shouyou to get a closer look at his face.

Shouyou looks down at the white shirt and vest he’s wearing, absently tugging at the neat hems and smoothing over non-existent wrinkles in the silken material. This clothing is far above what he can afford. He remembers when he could barely find simple ratty shirts and enough layers to keep Natsu and himself warm throughout the winter. But now, Shouyou wraps himself in silk and luxury as trophies for nights past, sensuous, sticky, stifling.

Perhaps tonight, he could do more than take this man’s purse; perhaps tonight, he could feel this man’s skin on his own and disappear in the morning with the black silk shirt and add it to his collection. He absently tips the cash out from the purses he’s already stolen, sifting through the coins - _not too bad for a Sunday night -_ and discards the purses into a dumpster. They aren’t worth keeping unless they’re in good enough condition to pawn. He shakes his head at himself. Natsu would be mad. She hates when he stays out too late, and she’s growing up so fast, quickly reaching the age where she’s old enough to understand what Shouyou does on the nights he doesn’t come home.

Shouyou reaches into the collar of his shirt, tucking the money into the flat pouch next to the knife holster he has hidden underneath, feeling the cold coins fit snugly against his chest. His hand slides out of his shirt, patting the knife sheathed over his ribs reassuringly. A person can never know what they’ll need it for.

He drags his gaze back up to his target and starts walking. He keeps his stance casual and relaxed, but his feet are quick. They dodge horses and carriage wheels, bringing Shouyou to the man’s side in a few breaths. The man is looking away. Perfect. Shouyou reaches into the pocket of the dark trousers where he can see a slight, but definite bulge, and - _they mold around his legs like a dream_ \- he simply can’t resist the temptation to look up, catch a glimpse of the face this well-built body belongs to and-

_Oh my god._

_Attractive men will be your undoing, Shouyou._

It takes two, three, heartbeats to realise that the wickedly good-looking male is now looking- well, glaring- at him, scowl dark enough to rival the night, and- _his eyes are a shadowy sapphire blue-_ it takes another, three, four heartbeats to realise a) no air has entered his lungs since he looked up; b) the man is yelling at him, and Shouyou can’t hear a thing because he’s too focused on the way the man’s lips form around each word; c) the situation he is in, with a hand shoved deep into the man’s pocket, fingers ghosting over the leather purse, but with seemingly no intention to take it and leave - judging by the way he gawks at the man, jaw hung wide open; d) he fucked up - and he has never fucked up before. Slowly, his other senses return, and his ears take on the full onslaught of the man’s furious shouting.

“-the fuck were your hands-”

“-moron, I’ll report-”

“-’re you just standing there for-”

“-leave, why-”

For a few more long moments, Shouyou is too soaked up in his own shock to process any of the words and respond, and when he finally pulls his hand out of the furious man’s pocket, several minutes have passed. People have begun to notice, pointing with disapproving eyes and whispering behind gloved fingers. Can he still get out of this with his neck intact? The man hasn’t stopped shouting, hasn’t tried to grab him or anything to keep him there until the police arrive, seemingly content with yelling his throat raw. And Shouyou has always been quick, a skilled thief blessed with his nimble fingers, a small frame, and an uncanny ability to disappear. But he sees a constable striding over in his peripheral vision and sighs internally. Time for plan B.

With strong fingers wrapped around the man’s shirt material, Shouyou tugs, bringing the glowering face inches away from his own. He wills his heart to calm _the fuck_ down- because a) he really does _not_ need to get choked up in his thirst for this man, b) he needs to retain control of this bizarre situation they’re in, and he can’t do that with his heart ricocheting off the walls of his ribcage, c) there is absolutely no way this ridiculously handsome nobleman cannot hear his heart pounding- and before the man has the chance to open his mouth and say another word, Shouyou leans in, turning his lips towards the man’s ear.

“Want someone to warm the other side of your bed tonight?”

Shouyou backs away quick enough to see the other youth flush bright red, from below his cravat to the tips of his ears, all the way up to his hairline, just barely hidden by the rim of the top hat. _How cute._ The frown etches even deeper into the already-downturned mouth, approaching an almost comical expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees more people pointing and whispering, looking rather scandalised. He gives them his sunniest grin and a small wave. They scamper off like mice.

He turns back to the tall aristocrat standing before him, cocking his head with a calculated expression, as though his stomach isn’t doing a hundred backflips a minute, as though his knees aren’t threatening to knock themselves into each other. Shouyou sticks his fingers into his own pants pockets trying to feign nonchalance, but it is to hide his hands lest they start to shake and get _visibly_ clammy.

“Well?”

Somewhat impressive that Shouyou still sounds like a normal human being.

Deep sapphire eyes shift away to glare intensely at something on the ground. The tips of the man’s ears are still red. Curious, Shouyou follows the man’s line of sight… and finds nothing. There is only the stone of the ground, decades of smeared horse dung, and the ash from the pipes men smoke. He looks up again, studying the man’s sulking face, brows knit together so fiercely they look ready to form a lifelong union, eyes that curve upwards at the ends, cheeks that are still flushed, lips that seem more confused than angry, now more of a pout than a grimace. Shouyou watches the lips move, but hears nothing.

“Sorry? I didn’t hear you.”

The lips move again, but Shouyou still barely hears anything. Is this man mumbling? He steps forward, staring incredulously into the man’s face. This man, mumbling? After all that yelling? Is he embarrassed? Bashful? Shouyou nearly loses himself in a fit of laughter before he remembers that this man is a potential client. It almost humanises this chiseled dream! He bites back a giggle.

“Sorry, I still couldn’t hear you.”

Crimson climbs up the the man’s neck, slowly but surely, until it reaches the jawline, continuing to spread further, colouring the red tips of his ears even redder, turning the blush on his cheeks several shades darker. Shouyou swears, if he focuses hard enough, he can see the steam streaming out of those reddened ears. The nobleman straightens up, even taller than his already towering frame, and looms over Shouyou, a storm brewing on the features of his face.

“I SAID,” the man roars, “the person I was supposed to meet didn’t show up, so keep up if you can.”

Without wasting another breath, the man turns on his heel with an indignant huff and walks away brusquely.

What an invitation, Shouyou thinks. He will look back on this night ten years from now, and this moment will probably still top his list of Most Awkward Encounters. Dignified from afar, but unrefined and brash up close. A nobleman who, perhaps, hasn’t mastered all the rules of aristocracy. Shouyou, nonetheless, finds it endearing. It takes another moment for Shouyou to recover from his thoughts, but he finds himself hurrying alongside this increasingly fascinating aristocrat in less than a heartbeat. The man refuses to look at him as he stalks towards the direction of what Shouyou believes to be his home.  

Guilt passes through Shouyou’s mind when he thinks of Natsu and his promise to tuck her into bed tonight. It makes him uncomfortable, but Hitoka is with Natsu tonight, and that eases his heart. He’ll just try to be home at dawn tomorrow morning, be there before Natsu wakes up, carry her out of bed with a good morning kiss. Natsu will like that. Maybe she’ll even forgive him for not coming home tonight.

His legs keep pace with the man beside him, and his eyes rake over the tall, athletic body. His lips spread into a wide grin. Promises of a good night.

* * *

“Wash up if you’d like,” the man grunts, gesturing vaguely towards the bathroom. As he moves through the parlour, he begins removing articles of clothing piece-by-piece, ignoring the perfectly adequate upright coat rack to scatter every surface he passes with fabric, the top hat hooked onto the knob of a display cabinet, tailcoat strewn haphazardly onto the armchair, golden wristwatch thrown on top of a polished mahogany coffee table. He reaches into his pocket-

“Where is my purse?”

Eyes narrowed, the raven-haired man man whirls around, shoes squeaking on polished tile. Shouyou smiles triumphantly back at him, coins gathered in one palm, purse swinging between index finger and thumb in the other. _Kageyama Tobio_ is engraved neatly into the leather in delicate cursive. The name suits him _,_ Shouyou thinks. He counts the money in his palm and whistles low. It has always eluded him, how the wealthy can carry enough money in their purse to pay half his year of rent while those on the street, toiling away for long hours day to day, have never even seen enough money to even imagine another week where their children are certain to go to bed with their bellies full.

Shouyou deposits the purse carefully on top of the upright piano, and holds up several coins.

“A crown for an hour, or bargain deal - a guinea for the whole night, until dawn. Anything you fancy.”

A sly grin plays on his lips, and Kageyama Tobio, now somewhat nervous, licks his own chapped ones.

“Keep all of it.”

“What?”

Shouyou stares incredulously at the coins weighing down onto his soft flesh of palm, and then back at the nobleman, looking back down again at the gold and silver and copper and bronze. His fingers close around the money. Maybe Natsu would appreciate a new dress, one of those he had seen in the shops downtown today, complete with laces, frills and bows. A new pair of shoes would be nice too. Real leather boots with laces to replace the ones that have become too tight around her toes and begun to sport small holes in the heels and soles. Shouyou allows himself a moment to thank the luck he was blessed with today before morphing his features back into something akin to seduction, tucking the money into the knife holster under his collar again.

He takes a step. And another. Gradually gaining onto Kageyama Tobio, each placement of the foot slow and deliberate. Shouyou’s smirk widens as the noble youth, lines of his body molded against the dark shirt and silver vest, takes a step back. And another, until the backs of his knees fold as they hit the edge of the couch, and he falls back, onto soft, plush fabric.

Pink, chapped lips shrink to form a small “o”. Long, slender fingers dig into linen and feather padding. With a knee on the seat of the couch, balancing in between Kageyama Tobio’s toned thighs, excruciatingly close to his crotch, Shouyou leans forward, hooking a finger underneath the raven-haired man’s loosened cravat, pulling the flustered crimson face right in front of his own, savoring the torrent of emotion that flits across the man’s face - excitement, nervousness, confusion, desire. Similar to the events that transpired less than an hour ago, Shouyou turns towards the man’s ear, whisper on his breath.

“Bedroom? I wouldn’t want to make a mess of your couch.”

Kageyama Tobio nods slowly, and in his peripheral vision, Shouyou can see as the man’s adam's apple bobs up and down with an audible swallow.

* * *

Tobio wakes up to sunlight filtering through a crack in the heavy curtains, warm linens, airy blankets, yet no trace of the the small, orange-haired Adonis that laid beside him in bed last night. He blinks out the fog of sleep that clouds over his consciousness and vision, his eyes sweeping the room, if only just to catch a glimpse of the smooth skin and wild, sunshine hair, the bright amber eyes that were so easy to get lost in, the spirited voice that had carried so much vitality, and deeper into the night, so much lust.

A rustle of the curtains, and more light streams into the room. Tobio sits up, sheets sliding down his torso, falling onto slender hips, and turns his head towards the direction of the motion, holding up his forearm to shield his eyes from the blinding sun. A figure stands in front of the open window, hands grasping at the wooden frames, framed by the sunlight. Deft feet hop onto the windowsill, and as Tobio reaches towards him, plea on his lips, he wonders how many other people have woken up to unruly, sunny hair and a brilliant smile not to be outdone by the morning sun, but haloed by it. A man who draws other men towards him and elicits pleasure from passion by the night, disappearing in the morning enveloped in early light, as though wings will appear between his shoulder-blades when he leaps out the window, and leaving behind a deep, unforgettable sense of longing.

Kageyama Tobio never believed he could long for anything other than victory and power, but today, he wakes up with an unfamiliar hunger, a hunger for tenderness and affection and intimacy and _love_ , much, much stronger than anything he has ever felt.

“Will you be back?”

The orange-haired man turns at the sound of Tobio’s voice, raspy with overuse and sleep, and something akin to delight and yearning briefly passes over his features.

“I will.”

And he’s gone.

* * *

 epilogue.

Thoughts of the man bathed in the morning sunlight refuse to leave Tobio’s mind, denying any hopes for sleep. He sighs, stepping out of his king-sized poster bed and pulling on a robe, trying fruitlessly to find his slippers. He wanders into the parlour where the orange-haired man had knocked him into the couch last night, knee too close to his crotch, and he flushes at the memory of it. His purse is still on the piano, and he absently picks it up, assuming to find it empty. Tobio blinks, confused. The purse is far heavier than an empty purse ought to be. He clicks it open, pouring the metal coins into his palm, and counts the money. There is only a guinea missing. Strange. He looks around parlour again. The coat and top hat are neatly hung on the coat rack, the work of his servants. He knows that his trousers and vest are strewn all over the floor of his bedroom, hastily pulled off in last night’s lusty fervor, but he can’t seem to remember where his black shirt went. He didn’t see it in his room with the rest of his clothing scattered across the floor.

Huh, very strange.

**Author's Note:**

> *peeks head out from burrows* would you leave a comment?
> 
> or yell at me on [tumblr](http://jellyjamjelly.tumblr.com/ask). 
> 
> (i get lonely.)
> 
> (edit: i've also revived my [twitter](https://twitter.com/satokairin). i'm a hermit but let's be friends.)


End file.
